


Music (Like Fingers on Her Skin)

by soft_princess



Category: Buffy the Vampire Slayer (TV)
Genre: Community: femslash_minis, F/F
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2008-01-13
Updated: 2008-01-13
Packaged: 2021-03-01 20:00:28
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,611
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23822719
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/soft_princess/pseuds/soft_princess
Summary: Tara always loved music, and Willow, like this, is music.
Relationships: Tara Maclay/Willow Rosenberg
Kudos: 12
Collections: Extra Flamey





	Music (Like Fingers on Her Skin)

* * *

There's a freckle on Willow's hip that Tara loves to kiss. There are more freckles like this one, all over Willow's body, and Tara wouldn't say this one is her favourite, but it's up there in the top five, along with the lone, dark freckle at the back of Willow's knee, and the paler one on her upper lip. At night, after patrol, when they're still high on adrenaline from the fight, from defeating the demon or vampire of the day--and all that entails--unable to sleep, Tara lays right there, next to it, her head against the curve of Willow's hip, and breathes.

She kisses the freckle tonight, a tiny brown spot sitting on Willow's hipbone, and feels Willow shiver against her. Tara has never told her, although they've never talked about it so it's not so much an omission or a lie, as it's a secret--Tara's to keep--that before Willow came into her life, Tara hadn't ever felt... like this. She can't put a word to it.

It's not "loved" because her mother loved Tara more than anything, and Tara knows that warmth like she knows the freckles of Willow's body, knows which curves and which patches of skin to touch to make Willow shiver like this. No, it's not "loved"; it's like... she could do anything.

She could _be_ anyone. Not in the sense of being anonymous, like Tara's always believed she was before, but in the sense of being _someone_.

Willow looks up at her, and Tara sees herself there, in Willow's eyes, in the curve of her smile, and it always makes her heart stutter, skip a beat; restart like she's being offered a whole new beginning and she doesn't really know where it's going to lead yet. Somewhere good, she thinks, somewhere extraordinary, because that's what Willow _is_ , extraordinary.

"Not too tired?" Willow asks, her fingers sliding into Tara's hair, soft and almost teasing.

Tara shivers and shakes her head. No, not too tired, just lazy enough that they can do this slowly. She pushes herself up Willow's body and kisses her, lips brushing over Willow's gently. She slides her tongue out to coax Willow's lips apart, and moves in, mapping Willow's mouth with a slowness that makes Willow shake with need.

"Please," Willow whimpers, her breath tickling Tara's skin. "Please, baby."

It's often like this, after their evening is spent chasing demons in cemeteries and dark alleys: a desperation that flows in their veins like fire. A slow, warm fire tonight; there was no threat of death, no escaping by the skin of their teeth for once, and Tara's kisses are careful, quiet, slow over Willow's skin. Her mouth maps Willow's neck, down to her breasts, and she sucks softly, just an inch away from a dark, tight nipple.

Willow fists her hands in the sheets, body taut and tantalizing, and Tara can't resist it. She flicks her tongue over Willow's nipple, and again when Willow shudders underneath her and another "Please" escapes her.

Tara takes the nipple between her lips and sucks. She brings her hand up to cup Willow's other breast, grazing her thumb over the neglected nipple as she bites, softly, on the one in her mouth. It's something else though, that she wants to taste, and as much as she loves to tease Willow like this, Tara has a goal.

She gives Willow's breast one last kiss, and moves down, her mouth mapping the expense of Willow's stomach, paying particular attention to her bellybutton.

Willow arches up and whimpers. "Please, Tara," she gasps, fingers coming up to tangle in Tara's hair.

Tara moves lower still, hands steady on Willow hips, and Willow spreads her legs for her, like she's been waiting for this all along--and she probably has. Willow knows how much Tara loves tasting her like this. Tara rakes her fingernails over the skin of Willow's inner thighs, and kisses the marks she makes, slowly, one by one. When Willow moans and says, "Tara, baby, _please_ ," her voice soft and strained with need, Tara slides the tip of one finger over Willow's clit, between her lips--slow, so slow--and _inside_.

Willow sobs and arches off the bed, and Tara, unable to resist now, flicks her tongue on Willow's clit and Willow writhes against the bed sheets. This isn't Tara's goal though, it's not what she really wants, and she settles more comfortably on her stomach, pulling her finger out despite Willow's protests, and pulls Willow's legs wider apart. Tara holds her like this, hands strong on Willow's thighs, and slips her tongue down, into Willow.

She knows by the way Willow keens and squirms, and pushes herself against Tara's mouth, that she's close, so close already, and it won't take long. Still, Tara takes her time to taste, to fuck, to push deeper inside, as deep as she can, and then out and in again, quick sure thrusts of her tongue.

She knows when Willow's about to come; Tara has done this so many times that she recognizes the way Willow's thighs twitch, and her breathing comes ragged and quick. Tara moves quickly. She lets go of one of Willow's thighs and, just as she closes her lips on Willow's clit and _sucks_ , pushes two fingers inside her into wet, tight heat and _twists_.

Tara loves this, loves the sounds Willow makes as she comes, muscles clenching on Tara's fingers. Tara's drowning in it, in Willow, in the music of Willow's moans and whimpers as they reach her ears.

Tara always loved music, and Willow, _like this_ , is music.

She's a fugue for violin, so overwhelming and powerful that it makes Tara's head spin, dizzy as notes fly, like fingers, over her skin.

For Tara, Willow is music, and more. She's...

She's textbooks in the middle of the night, moments after saving the world, trying to cram for tomorrow's test; beautiful in the soft light of the lamp, exhausted, but _brilliant_. She's warm hands on Tara's neck, massaging away the tension with her fingertips after too close calls and infrequent nightmares. She's a sense of purpose, of belonging to a family that might not be Tara's by blood, but is hers by heart. Willow is...

She's everything.

Tara moves up on the bed and cups Willow's cheek against her palm, languorously licking her lips. "I love how you taste," she whispers as she brings her mouth down to graze over Willow's.

"You're getting good at this," Willow breathes, still dazed and shaking softly underneath Tara's hand.

Tara lets out a laugh, delighted and more than a little bit smug, because, hey, _she_ did this, _she_ made Willow feel this way, and if she has a right to be smug about anything, it's this. "Is that going to be a problem?" she asks, teasingly.

"Goddess, no," Willow murmurs, a slow, lazy grin widening on her lips. "Maybe I should practice more, so I can catch up with you."

"Maybe you should," Tara says. She kisses Willow briefly, and turns over on her back, legs spread and hands moving against the inside of her thighs. "Come on," she says breathlessly. "Willing subject right here."

Willow, hand still unsteady enough that Tara notices, runs her fingers over Tara's breasts, down her stomach, and pats Tara's hands away. "Mine, no touching."

"Yours," Tara answers, feeling her cheeks flush warmly. Willow's mouth closes on her breast, and Tara arches up, silently begging. She's wet and ready, she wants this more than she remembers ever wanting anything. "Please."

Willow's hand slides down between Tara's legs, over her clit, and she slips one finger inside. "Like this?"

Tara pushes down, and shakes her head. "More." She's so close already, she just needs a little more; a second, third finger, pushing inside, Willow's palm rubbing against her clit, the fingers of Willow's free hand sliding over the skin of Tara's hip and thigh, Willow's mouth kissing and sucking on her breast, leaving a mark Tara knows will still be there in the morning.

Her head spins, and she doesn't know what she wants more of, mouth or hand, and she arches into both, moaning and shuddering, and Willow doesn't stop. She moves her hand faster, takes Tara's nipple between her lips and bites, the sensation going straight to Tara's clit.

"Willow," Tara gasps as she comes, and comes, and comes... Willow doesn't stop, doesn't even slow down until Tara can't take it anymore, and she clenches her thighs. "Please," Tara manages feebly, boneless.

Willow slides her fingers free--Tara moans at the loss, tightening her muscles to retain as much of the sensation as she can--and brings them to her mouth. While Tara watches, she licks each finger clean and bends down to kiss Tara's lips. "You're so beautiful," she says, and it's like she can't stop touching every inch of Tara's skin. Her fingers, her palms, are everywhere, not letting Tara get her breath back.

Tara shivers and shifts, reaching for the covers and letting Willow pull her closer until they're tangled together, legs and arms, and Tara's head is fitted in the crook of Willow's shoulder.

There, with her mouth against Willow's skin, Tara says, silent and without words, "Thank you for making me believe that I can do anything, be anyone. Thank you for being my everything, for playing music on my skin like only you know how." When she looks up, heart beating hard and tight under her breasts, Willow is asleep. Her features are slack, content, happy. She's beautiful.

Tara brushes her lips where she can reach, on Willow's neck, and breathes her in.

THE END


End file.
